A Steady Brightness of Being - A nurturing book for when you need encouragement and support

I went to UBC's Museum of Anthropology a few weeks ago to check out their exhibit, "Nuxalk Strong: Dancing Down the Eyelashes of the Sun." The Nuxalk are neighbours of the Tsilhqot'in and one of the stories that my grandma used to tell had to do with one of our ancestors spending the winter in their territory. 

Their exhibit featured some blankets, and stories about blankets. 

One of the stories was about a blanket which was taken to Winnipeg, and then they were able to repatriate it. The story for the blanket above, however, was that no one knows where it is. The caption says that the yakyanlh (mountain goat wool robe) was passed down. It contained rights to hunt in a specific area. And the woman brought the robe, along with the rights, with her into marriage. But now no one knows where the blanket is. 

I was really moved when I read this story. Blankets are about warmth and protection, yes. But they are more than that. A blanket can be about identity, who you are, and how you are connected to others. It can carry rights and responsibilities. It can represent belonging within a community and belonging to the land. 

During that dark period of time of the potlatch ban and pass system, how painful it must of been for the family to know that this beautiful blanket existed, and to not be able to share the blanket with the next generation. How difficult it must have been to not be able to show it to the children and youth and say, "Your ancestors created this beautiful item for you. This is who you are." 

I read about the repatriation from the Vatican. I noticed how one of the Metis leaders implied that repatriation would insult the ancestors who gave the gifts. This comment does not take into consideration the fact that many of these gifts were "given" under duress. Due to government and church policies, many Indigenous communities were in survival mode, and people felt like they had no choice except to part ways with their belongings. Repatriation is not an insult to the ancestors. It's a reconnection with the creative spirit that they placed into the items that they created. 

While I was at the MOA, I visited the blankets in some of the other exhibits too. I always find it interesting to learn about the different materials in the blankets. Wooly dog wool, wool, mountain goat wool, jute, cedar... I was curious about what Tsilhqot'ins made blankets out of so I did some asking around and someone sent me a photo of a fur blanket. The fur was made into strips and woven together with wool. They said it was wild cat fur, possibly mountain lion. Of course Tsilhqot'in ancestors would have the most intense blankets lol. 

Anyhow, I really need to blog about today's book today because I am going to lend this book to my mom next time I see her. 

A Steady Brightness of Being: Truths, Wisdom, & Love from Celebrated Indigenous Voices is a collection edited by Murray Sinclair's family members, Sara Sinclair and Stephanie Sinclair. In the introduction they talk about how one of their grandparents was a holocaust survivor, and her trauma was recognized by society. But their other grandparent was a residential school survivor who carried shame, and during his lifetime they did not understand his trauma because it was not recognized by society. And so they never had an opportunity to really know him and they carried regret over that.  The introduction contains a letter from one of the sisters to Murray, and the letter was written while he was in the hospital. During that period of time, my mom had tickets to see him at the Vancouver Writer's Festival. But he was sick so he could not come and I felt sad that she was not able to meet him. 

The book is a series of letters written from prominent Indigenous writers. the letters are addressed to various recipients: relatives, students, future ancestors, the Boreal Forest... Niigaan Sinclair has a letter to Canada. In the letter he talks about how his dad, Murray Sinclair died. He gives some biographical information about his dad's background and career - in particular his work with the TRC and RCAP. And then he says that he is angry because Canada took his dad from him because his dad spent so much time working against racism and genocide. And he talks about a conversation where he asks his dad why. Then he talks about his dad's final days, and how his dad asked him to talk about the creation story and what happens after someone dies and he reassures his dad that he will do the specific things attached to those beliefs. Normally when I encounter a passage in a a book and it moves me, I share an excerpt. In this case, though, I think you just need to read the book. Niigaan talks about his dad's duty and care, and how we all need to take up his work. 

As much as I bawled my head off reading Niigaan's piece, I felt comforted knowing that Murray Sinclair's family was able to provide him with those reassurances that they would take care of him after he passed. 

The cover of the book is beautiful. And the cover suits the book. 

It's a small book, less than 200 pages, but powerful. Here is the publisher's blurb: 

Drawing on the wisdom and personal experience of its esteemed contributors, this first-of-its-kind anthology tackles complex questions of our times to provide a rich tapestry of Indigenous life, past, present, and future. The letters explore the histories that have brought us to this moment, the challenges and crises faced by present-day communities, and the visions that will lead us to a new architecture for thinking about Indigeneity. Taking its structure from the medicine bundle—tobacco, sage, cedar, and sweetgrass—it will stir and empower readers, as well as enrich an essential and ongoing conversation about what reconciliation looks like and what it means to be Indigenous today.

I think it hits the mark. It is like a balm. It does not ignore or shy away from difficult things, but it provides kind and gentle encouragement to those who are doing the difficult work. Some books are for when you need to breathe fire. Some books are for when you come home from being breathing fire all day and you need a soft place to land. This book is that soft place. The title of the book comes from Terese Marie Mailhot's work, "To Indians Now and Forever Surviving." She says, 

I believe we are a steady brightness of being, like a running wheel of light. Native people carry power. All Indigenous people are bound to something inextricably connected to the land, the sky, and the universe. (Mailhot, 2025, p. 13). 

I listened to her memoir, Heartberries, and it was an emotionally difficult read. Her contribution is the first piece in this collection, and I think it set a very warm and supportive tone for the rest of the book.

There are 25 contributions from people such as Miss Chief Eagle Testickle, Joshua Whitehead, Cindy Blackstock, katherena vermette, and Jennifer Grenz. I won't go over each and every contribution, but I will say that I felt like all of the pieces belonged in this work and positively contributed to the overall vision of the collection. 

The final piece is by Waubgeshig Rice, who writes to his great great grandchildren. For those teaching his novels, Moon of the Crusted Snow and Moon of the Turning Leaves, this letter might be a good way to introduce his work and also a good way to introduce the concept of Indigenous futurisms. 

Moon of the Turning Leaves by Waubgeshig Rice *spoilers*

I went to Splatsin last weekend to go to Brock Thomas's memorial stickgames. Brock was a friend of mine. I jumped on a random team and took second in the tournament and so I got a hoodie. Gratitude to the family for everything that they did in order to create an event where we could come together and remember Brock. 

I am on holidays right now. In addition to checking out events, I hope to do some reading for enjoyment. I selected Moon of the Turning Leaves as my first post-student life novel to read. I bought it before I finished my studies  and I saved it until I knew that I could read it in a relaxed state of mind. When I did my MA it took me a year to read a book because I was tired. But this time around it only took a few months, so yay to faster recovery. 

This post contains spoilers. If you (like me) like to read spoilers before reading the book, this post is for you. Or, if you have already read the book and are looking to extend your enjoyment of the book by reading someone's perspective on it, then this post is for you. 

The story begins with a birth in the new community, which was established after the community in Moon of the Crusted Snow decides to leave the rez and set up a new home in the bush. They have been established in their new home in the bush for over a decade, and the new place has been good to them. But they are exhausting the resources of that spot. They discuss how their ancestors used to move rather than staying in one place, and they also discuss how their current home is not actually where they are from. Prior to the apocalypse, they had been relocated to their present area. Prior to living in their present area, they were actually from down south where they lived on a shore of one of the great lakes.

As a community, they gather and make a decision to send a scouting party out to their former territory down south in order to gather information which would then help them to decide whether or not it would be feasible to return to their former territory.

Among those in the scouting party are Evan (protagonist in Moon of the Crusted Snow) and Nangohns, his daughter who was a very small child at the time of the apocalypse and who had little or no memory of their old life. Here is her understanding of what happened previously:

When she was seven or eight, Cal had told her a story about her father and the stranger called Justin Scott - a mammoth, bald white man who had appeared on their rez a few weeks into the first winter without power. He had some by snowmobile, bringing with him booze and drugs (things the younger kids knew only by name and reputation) - and guns. Cal said he had heard his uncles talking and they said Scott had tried to take over the old band council and eventually lured people under his influence, including Evan's younger brother, Cam, Nangohns' uncle. Cal told her that when everyone was starving and dying off that first winter, Scott had promised them food, but when Evan and the others found out that what they were eating was the bodies of the dead, there was a fight - Evan got shot, and the white lady, Meghan, had finished it by shooting Justin Scott in the head. 

Nangohns had suspect4ed that Cal, as one of th older kids back then, was trying to scare her, but the story would still creep back into her mind at night. The few times she asked her mom and dad about it, they said it wasn't' Cal's or his uncles' place to tell tales about the bad old days. Often, Evan would become stern and gloomy to the point where Nangohns was afraid he'd never look at her again. He also wouldn't talk about his brother Cam, who survived Scott's rule but was never the same, and disappeared one night the following winter. Evan's cold responses eventually deterred her from asking. It was generally known that there had been violence that first winter, and that Evan had taken a bullet. And it was, in a way, a source of pride. But in their household, it wasn't something they discussed. 

Twelve years on, the violence of that time haunted them all in different ways. For the younger ones, it was a ghost story pieced together through fragments. A story tinged not only with horror but also with their elders' shame - for allowing a monster into their midsts, and for what they had to do to destroy it. (p.57-58)

An element of the story that I loved was the relationship between Evan and his daughter, Nangohns. Here is the scene in which they discuss how she got her name:

"Looks like the stars are coming out already," she said. 

"Your namesake."

"Hmmm," she sighed, and smiled again in recognition. 

"I remember when me and your mom found out you were coming. It was late in the fall. I was coming home from a hunt. I didn't get nothing, so I figured it was time to go home."

Nangohns had heard the origin story of her name countless times in her young life, but she let her father tell it again. He'd been out on foot in the bush and got turned around, so he tried to reorient himself by the stars.  

"There was one little start sitting just above the trees on the horizon," he said. Something told me to go in the direction of that little star. It wasn't as bright as the other ones that were coming out, and it flickered just so - I just knew I had to walk towards it." It led him to one of the main roads, and he walked home from there. "I came hoe and told your mother about it. It was late by then, and she had been worried. I told her there was this little star that I followed out of the bush. And she said, "Well, I'm glad you made it, because I have some news," and she showed me the pregnancy test with the two lines. And then I knew that light was you, guiding me home." 

"So you asked all your grandparents if you could name me that, and they said yeah," Nangohns interrupted, finishing the story for him. "And nine months later you flew into that hospital, and when I came out you called me Nangohns." 

Evan smiled and nodded. The quiet of the evening carried the voices over from the beach. 

"I love that story," Nangohns said. "Miigwech, Noos." 

They both looked up at the stars and watched them reveal themselves one at a time. (p.80-81).

At one point in the story, the scouting party contemplates whether or not they should continue. Nangohn's, as the voice of her generation, urges the group to continue. 

"What about us?" Nangohns's raised voice cut through the emptiness of the space. 

Everyone, including J.C., twisted their necks in her direction. 

"The young ones. The next generation. The future. We didn't choose where we got to be born. But we trusted you to care for us. To love us. To make the right decisions for us. And you did. We're alive today because of you. You found a way to make a good life for us. Nmiigwechiwendam. I am thankful." She case her long, slender face down to the ground before she continued. "But for a long time, you didn't tell us everything about what happened when we were little kids," she spoke slowly, looking them each in the eyes. 

Amber held on to Cal's torso while looking over at the younger woman. 

"We asked you, over and over. But you ignored us. Or you didn't tell us the whole story. I know you were trying to protect us. But did you forget what it's like? Didn't you think we'd outgrow that little place? I love it there, and I respect that land. But you all know we were supposed to disappear there. They sent us there to disappear. They didn't want us to survive on that land. They wanted us to die." 

Evan swallowed hard as he felt tears well at the corners of his eyes. J.C. rubbed his forehead. 

"Now look around you," continued Nangohns. "Who survived? Who is left? We still don't know. But we're here. We should be proud of that. Look at these buildings. They're falling apart. Soon they're all going to fall to the ground, and Mother Earth is gonna take this place back. She's already grabbed hold. Soon she's gonna start over. And she's doing that for all of us. So yea, we owe the next steps to our ancestors." 

Nangohns began to conclude her speech. "We're here because of them, and we respect them. But we have to think about the future. We'll still be here after you're gone. And we deserve a say in the world we're going to live in. I say we keep going." (p.110-111).

Because this is a sequel, I had a number of expectations going into the story. In Moon of the Crusted Snow, Indigenous identity was a source of strength. The community relied on their own knowledge of how to survive as well as their values of taking care of the community in order to survive not just as individuals, but rather, to survive as a community. In Moon of the Crusted Snow, the community began to create their own structures. For example, they began creating their own language education for the children. Moon of the Crusted Snow also contained a high degree of cultural specificity (as opposed to pan-Indigenous content). With its focus on a specific place and small cast of characters, Moon of the Crusted Snow was also really easy to settle into. 

Moon of the Turning Leaves fulfilled all of those expectations that I had as a reader, and more. 

Something which I really appreciated about it was that one of the main characters, Nangohns, is portrayed in a way which does not conform to mainstream expectations of gender. She is a skilled fisher and hunter. And as part of the scouting party, she is a brave adventurer. 

I was a little bit worried in the first thirty pages of the book because there were so many names introduced in a short period of time. I get easily overwhelmed by too many names. But relatively early on the book shifts from being about everyone in the community to being about the scouting party of six, and their journey.

This book also gives clues about the nature of the apocalypse (some kind of dead zone, northern lights) and the impact on the general population (flu, some other pandemic, violence, widespread death). The antagonists are a predominantly male group of white supremacists made of of pre-apocalyptic alt-right militia. They are men who claim to be all about the future, however, it is cynical as in one part of the book they actually kill a child (or children). It was weirdly timely to read this at the same time as there were men in this movement who were recently arrested in Quebec for "ideologically motivated violent extremism.", and when one of the commanders of the Canadian army has stepped down due to his membership in a social media group which promoted hate. 

During the journey, the group meets another Indigenous community who give them information about a previous scouting group who never returned. And then the group, after a series of challenges, eventually arrives at the shore of their traditional territory, and there they find an island which appears to be a safe and sustainable long term place of what Kyle Powys Whyte refers to as collective continuance: 

Collective continuance is a community’s aptitude for being adaptive in ways sufficient for the livelihoods of its members to flourish into the future. The flourishing of livelihoods refers to both indigenous conceptions of (1) how to contest colonial hardships, like religious discrimination and disrespect for treaty rights, and (2) how to pursue comprehensive aims at robust living, like building cohesive societies, vibrant cultures, strong subsistence and commercial economies, and peaceful relations with a range of neighbors. 

I think that this novel is a good example of Indigenous futurisms. I also thought that from a decolonial perspective, it was interesting to see that a central aspect of the plot is addressing the colonial policy of forced displacement/relocation of Indigenous communities. 

I think sequels can be a little bit tricky because as a reader, I want a story that is consistent with the previous story yet novel enough that I feel like I am reading something new. I think that this book did a good job of carrying forward the characters of the previous book while giving them a fresh plot. Whenever I watch a post-apocalyptic or horror movie in theatre, I try to predict what the sequel will be about. Usually there are really obvious clues in a movie. In this book, there are a few clear opportunities for a sequel. First, previous scouts had set out to learn about the world, but they never returned. A sequel might follow up with them to find out what happened to them. Second, now that the scouting party has found a new place of refuge, they need to go back and get the rest of the community. And so that journey, which would now include many ages, could be a new book. And finally, the process of integrating the northern community into the island community and the various governance choices could be interesting to read about. I could also foresee a book where this is some kind of war between the militia and the island community. Honestly, I'd be happy to see a sequel on any of these items, or something else. If this expanded into some kind of expansive Star Wars-esque expansive and sprawling series of books, I'd probably read them all. What if there was a book for each moon? Sometimes when there is a series or sequels, the sequels get progressively less good over time (I'm looking at you Mad Max Thunderdome) but sometimes the sequels are as good or better as the original (Mad Max Fury Road and Furiosa). I'd say that this sequel is as good or better than the original. But, also, if Waubgeshig decided he wanted to move onto something new, I'd totally understand. I just hope he keeps writing fiction. 

Disclaimer: this is NOT a sponsored post. To read my ethics statement regarding reviews, see this page. Disclaimer on the disclaimer - the ethics statement is a work in progress. 

The Future Imaginary in Indigenous North American Arts and Literatures

 SFU's big convocation is tomorrow. I decided not to go for a few reasons, including the fact that there is a conference that I really want to go to happening at the same time, and also because I have an ergonomic thing going on right now. But I did go to the Indigenous grad. I was really happy my family was able to make it as well. 

The event was very beautiful. For me, the highlight was definitely the Nisga'a dance group. I enjoyed listening to all of the speakers. I did feel emotional, but I did not cry. I actually did cry the day that I submitted to the library in March. I had the day off on a weekday and after I submitted to the library, I went to a matinee of the Lion King and there was no one there. And then I randomly cried... I think it was out of relief. And also, just tiredness from carrying this for so long. I don't know. Anyhow, while waiting to cross the stage, I told myself "I already cried at Lion King, so no need to cry now."

I liked the way that the organizers subverted the logic of colonialism in the way that they set up the event. Rather than sitting at the front after crossing the stage, graduates went and sat with their families. Syeta'xtn (Director of Indigenous Relations and Reconciliation) explained that this was inspired by what happens in his community, where after one is done, they are presented to and returned to their families. Overall, I found SFU to be a supportive institution. There were difficult moments, but doing a PhD is an inherently difficult endeavor. In my experience, there are a lot of people at SFU who wish to be part of changing the institution in order to make it less colonial and more responsive to the needs of Indigenous people, and that means a lot to me. 

I did have a weird moment, though, where I remembered something that happened shortly after I finished my masters. Way back then, about ten years ago at a community event, someone said something really terrible to someone else in front of me. I expressed discouragement to the person who said the hurtful thing. I also followed up with the person who said the hurtful thing afterwards, to do some awareness building. It was a calling in - where an educational rather than adversarial approach was taken, but not all of it was in the moment. But I always had a weird feeling after that I wish I had reacted more quickly and loudly in the moment, or even acknowledged the impact of the words on the person who the words were directed to. It was not the first or last time that I wished I could respond more quickly, but it was definitely one of the most dramatic instances. People always ask - "what's next?" Now that I am certified book smart, I think that my next learning goal is to just become better at reacting in the moment, and becoming better at interrupting and interjecting when something really bothers me. That sounds like a weird goal. But I really want to live a life without regrets, and I think that developing this skill of overcoming my freeze reaction is a key element in that. 

And, of course, my goal is to just keep reading. 

My dissertation was on Indigenous speculative fiction, but I did not approach it through literary theory. In fact, once I did my qualifying exam, I tried to shift my focus to the stories themselves. The way that I structured my methodology was also sort of a turn away from literary theory. So now I am kind of in a weird spot where I am now reading literary theory stuff that I did not read, because my attention was elsewhere. I am catching up, in the visiting sense (catching up with my old friend - the field of literary studies), not in the remedial sense (because I am not behind, I am exactly where I need to be). 

So, in that spirit, I did obtain a copy of The Future Imaginary in Indigenous North American Arts and Literatures by Kristina Baudemann. The future imaginary is a literary term coined by Jason Edward Lewis (Samoan, Hawaiian). "The concept describes visions of the future that are shared by a group of people and used to motivate change in the present. Future imaginaries provide groups with a shared vocabulary for discussing the future and strategies for getting to the future they desire." (Lewis, 2023, p.11). 

I did cite Baudermann in my dissertation - but an article, not this book. I only became aware of the book after I finished. The book is a version of her dissertation. A free sample of the book can be found here.

She captures a range of media in her study, including visual art, film, literature, jewelry, and virtual reality. Something that I found really interesting right off the bat is that when describing the actions of colonial governments, she does mention eugenics (Baudemann, 2022, p.5) alongside things like residential schools. I am in Canada, and it is extremely unusual for people to acknowledge that eugenics against Indigenous people here occurred very recently... and some might even question whether it even ended. It's just not a word that comes up in common conversation. Perhaps due to the public liability of calling it what it is. There was actually just a decision last month in which an Alberta court denied the attempt to do a class action lawsuit on forced sterilization of Indigenous women, and instead said that if people want to pursue this, they have to do so as individuals. Baudemann's dissertation was done in Germany. I actually wonder - if it were carried out in Canada, would this matter of fact statement of eugenics have been readily accepted without having to justify it? 

When I first started reading the book, I found it a little disorienting. I'm used to reading Indigenous scholarship in education. Usually, the first thing people do in that context is state their place-based relationality. It was a little bit weird to begin reading a book length text on Indigenous creative works that did not ground itself in place-based relationality, and for a minute I thought "not sure whether or not I like this." But when I saw the inclusion of eugenics, I thought "there is value in reading things that are written from different perspectives, even if it is initially uncomfortable" and "maybe the fact that she is writing from Germany and not North America enables her to say things that we cannot easily say here." 

I haven't read the whole book yet. I read a few of the first chapters and then the conclusion. And then I started reading the chapter on Stephen Graham Jones. It's slow going because it is very abstract and theoretical. I think I would get more out of it if a googled each creative work and read summaries of the works or viewed the visual items. If I don't read the whole book, I might still use it just for inspiration to look up creative works by Indigenous people.

I definitely would not recommend this book for a general audience. It is not light and easy reading. There are some good nuggets in it. For example, she says "In a colonial context, the future belongs to the colonizer." (p. 21). And then goes on to talk about how creative works by Indigenous people about the future challenge the colonial context, and in doing so, assert Indigenous futures. So even though it is not an easy read, I do like her writing. 

Bauadermann, K. (2022). The Future Imaginary in Indigenous North American Arts and Literatures. Routledge. 

Lewis, J.E. (2023). The Future Imaginary. In T.J. Taylor, I. Lavendar III, G.L. Dillon, & B. Chattopadhyay (Eds.), The Routledge Handbook of CoFuturisms (pp. 11-23). Routledge Press. 

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A little plug before I go. I was at the Museum of Vancouver today. My mom arranged a sneak peek of Nexwenen Nataghelʔilh, which is about the repatriation of Tsilhqot'in artifacts from the Museum of Vancouver. It's a beautiful exhibit which includes baskets, photos, a film, and even a quote by my mom. The larger exhibit that it is housed in is called The Work of Repair: Redress & Repatriation at the Museum of Vancouver. It opens on June 20th, and features stories of repatriation of artifacts from a number of communities, as well as stories about projects that bring Indigenous knowledges into the future, so that future generations are able to create as well. What I saw today was not yet complete, but even in a not yet complete stage, I thought it was beautiful and powerful. Highly recommend if you are looking for an activity to do in order to recognize National Indigenous Peoples Day on June 21. 

Walking the Clouds - Grace Dillon

*Update - I noticed that the original version of this is riddled with typos. Blogger doesn't have spellcheck? Or maybe I turned it off somehow? Anyhow, fixed the glaring errors. 

When I encounter an author, I often look them up to see if they have any podcasts or lectures online. Then when I am reading, I can imagine their voice narrating it. Grace Dillon does have a number of lectures available online. She's a gregarious speaker with a delightful laugh. I recommend watching this video from the Future Imaginaries Symposium in Kelowna.

This post focuses on her introduction to the book she edited, Walking the Clouds: An Anthology of Indigenous Science Fiction (2012). She actually has another collection, Hive of Dreams: Contemporary Science Fiction from the Pacific Northwest (2003). I just recieved it in the mail. Grace Dillon does not address Indigenous fiction in the introduction. But I haven't looked too closely so maybe I am wrong about that. 

In the introduction to Walking the Clouds: An Anthology of Indigenous Science Fiction (2012), Grace Dillon opens with reference to a Drew Hayden Taylor play in which one of the characters is an Indigenous science fiction writer who resists their writing being limited to a mechanism to educate non-Indigenous Canada about Indigenous people, and instead just wants to follow their own creative impulses while also making a living (p.1). Reflecting on the concept of Indigenous self-expression through science fiction, Dillon asks the question "Does s[cience] f[iction] have the capacity to envision Native futures, Indigenous hopes, and dreams recovered by rethinking the past in a new framework?" (p.2). She says the anthology “weds s[cience] f[iction] theory and Native intellectualism, Indigenous scientific literacy, and western techno-cultural science, scientific possibilities enmeshed with Skin thinking." (p.2). 

She says, "The stories offered here are thought experiments that confront issues of 'Indianness'” (p.2) and also describes them as a "mindscape" (p.3). The parameters of the mindscape are described through the names of the sections in the book: “Native Slipstream; Contact; Indigenous Scientific Literacies and Environmental Sustainability; Native Apocalypse, Revolutions, and Futuristic Reconstructions of Sovereignties; and Biskaabiiyang, ‘Returning to Ourselves’: Beyond the Shadow-Worlds of Postmodernity and the (Post)Colonial." (p.3). Dillon engages with Indigenous scholars as she: invokes Gerald Vizenor's Suvivance (p.6); invokes Lawrence Gross's concepts of post-apocalyptic stress syndrome, aakozi (Anishinaabemowin for being out of balance), and returning to bimaadiziwin (being in a state of balance), (p.9); and invokes Linda Tuhiwai Smith's approach to decolonization, which Dillon describes as "changing rather than imitating Eurowestern concepts." (p.10). She says, "In the end, Walking the Clouds returns us to ourselves by encouraging Native writers to write about Native conditions in Native-centred worlds liberated by the imagination." (p.11).

Dillon, G.L. (2012). Imagining Indigenous Futurisms. In G.L. Dillon (Ed.) Walking the Clouds: An Anthology of Indigenous Science Fiction (p.1-12). Tuscon, Arizona: University of Arizona Press.

There are a few stories in the anthology that I thought were pretty good. The book is laid out as a scholarly reader, with academic introductions to each piece. 

The front matter of the book has a page that says "Volume 69" and lists the (very impressive) editorial board, which includes Joy Harjo, N. Scott Momaday, Simon J. Ortiz, and Leslie Marmon Silko. I saw that and I was like Volume 69 of what?!? so I went to the website website and found this description: 

Launched in 1971, Sun Tracks was one of the first publishing programs to focus exclusively on the creative works of Native Americans. The series has included more than eighty volumes of poetry, prose, art, and photography by such distinguished artists as Joy Harjo, N. Scott Momaday, Simon J. Ortiz, Carter Revard, and Luci Tapahonso.

I do love collections of things. So maybe some day I will look further into this Sun Tracks collection. But not today because I have some other things to do today. 

In 2016, Extrapolation, a scholarly journal on science fiction and fantasy, published an Indigenous Futurisms issue and Grace Dillon wrote the editorial.

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